


sore winner

by kittenscully



Series: x files prompt fills [5]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Counter Sex, Exhibitionism, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 07, ft some dirty talk, season of secret sex, there is nothing here but smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24990910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenscully/pseuds/kittenscully
Summary: She can’t think of any other lovers who have been so capable of drowning her in romance and affection one moment and bantering with her bodily in the kitchen the next.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Series: x files prompt fills [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789186
Comments: 2
Kudos: 92





	sore winner

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to an ask about whether Mulder and Scully have counter sex (obviously, the answer is yes. lots).

Early afternoon. The plates set out beside the stove, bagels in her toaster oven. They have plans today, a movie to see, a walk by the river. He’s even offered her dinner out, although she has no intention of taking him up on it. 

She isn’t sure who started it, whether it was him sliding in behind her or her pressing her hips back to tease him. Maybe it’s been fated since she pulled on his shirt and wandered to the kitchen wearing nothing else, giving him a nice view of her legs from the foot of the bed. Either way, he’s taken the opportunity to invade her space like he owns it. Which, to be fair, he does. 

Beside her, the cream cheese, foil half unwrapped. Between her legs, Mulder, sighing steam onto her neck, palming the slick inside of her thigh roughly. 

He can never resist talking with his hands, her crusader. Always driven wild at the sight of her, never burned out on touching her, only wanting more and more every time he has her. On weekends, the need compounds until they wear themselves out and collapse, bodies limp and radiating heat in one bed or the other, tangled together like a celtic knot. 

Right now, though, they’re barely halfway into the weekend, and nowhere near wearing out yet. 

His shoulders ripple under her hands as he tugs her closer to the edge of the counter. The shirt is wrestled open, his fingers viselike around her nipple, still darkened and tender from his teeth less than an hour before. Her vision is already blurry, and she squirms, heat twisting in her belly when he tugs harder instead of letting go. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he tells her, like she doesn’t know, dipping into her folds with his other hand. She sighs her encouragement and spreads her legs, giving him room to work. “Mm, there we go. So good for me.” 

The way he fumbles with her must be intentional, focused precision abandoned in favor of toying clumsily with her sensitive core and her breasts, bruised here and there from the night before. His thumb, heavy on her clit, sparks shooting up her spine, nudging this way and that, as if he’s ever unsure. As if all of this isn’t just an excuse to be harsher, to explore her reactions and ultimately make her concede the fight. 

He’s goading her, she knows, to drape herself against the cabinets and let him have his way with her, completely at his mercy. It’s Saturday, fresh off a night of reacquainting themselves with each other in total privacy, and so sex is a competition today, a battle of wills. A struggle to make the other admit that they want, secretly, to submit. Intellectual stimulation to match the physical.

She rocks her hips into his touch, and his knuckles close around her clit, a firm pinch to make her whine and go slack in his arms. 

“Tell me what you want,” he demands. Making her talk has been a favorite game of his ever since he learned that it doesn’t come easy to her. 

She grabs the back of his neck and kisses him sloppily. The hand playing with her breasts grows rougher, and she moans into his mouth, bites down on his lip in response. 

She’ll surrender this round. They have places to be, she reasons, and there simply isn’t time to turn the tables on him. He can’t come again yet anyway. His middle finger swipes against her entrance again and again, rough and demanding, and she gushes at the pressure. 

“Mulder,” she says, his mouth hot in the crook of her neck. She groan and rocks forwards, one last attempt at making him give it to her without another word. 

“Tell me what you want,” he repeats, low, and she can hear him grinning. His thumb pushes into her cunt, and she arches against him. 

“Fuck me,” she gasps, giving in. “With your fingers.” 

“See?” he hums. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

She yanks at his hair, smiling despite herself when he hisses in affront. 

He knows she wants it hard, and that’s why he starts far too easy, only a single finger inside. She’s still relaxed for him, soft and wet. He’d slid into her first thing this morning, murmured his devotion over and over with his arms framing her face and his heavy cock working her open. She can’t think of any other lovers who have been so capable of drowning her in romance and affection one moment and bantering with her bodily in the kitchen the next. 

Bucking against him has no effect on his slow pace, and neither does murmuring _harder_ , not even when she tacks on a breathy _please_ as a bonus. He presses kisses to her jaw, fingers plucking her nipple, ignoring her demands completely. 

They’re sore winners, the both of them, and she should’ve known her surrender would mean him taking his time. There’s nothing to do but let him, and so she spreads her legs wider, her head falling back as he nips at her throat.

She’ll get back at him later, suck on his balls until he screams. Hold down his wrists and grind against him, ride his abs or the stiff ridge of his erection until she comes, then cover his aching cock with kitten licks and make him beg. 

“Gonna do this in public, one of these days,” he tells her, and her eyes go wide as another finger joins the first, both of them curling inside her. “Reach down between your sweet little thighs and play with your cunt.” 

“Mulder,” she exhales, nails digging into his back. The thought makes her flush, and she doesn’t know whether he means it or not, whether she wants him to mean it.

“Get you so worked up your chest goes pink, just like that,” he says, ducking to kiss her collarbone. “Make you come wrapped around my fingers and soak your prim little skirt where anyone could see.” 

She clenches, the wave of arousal making her dizzy, and that’s one question answered — _God_ yes, she wants him to mean it. 

“Maybe I’ll do it in the movie theater,” he husks, his mouth hovering beside her ear. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“Mulder,” she manages again, teetering on the edge, the heat sparking through her thighs. “More.”

“Wouldn’t you, Scully?”

The third finger is so close to joining the first two, and it won’t take much, not with how sensitive she is. 

“ _Yes,_ ” she gasps, squirming desperately against his hand. “I’d love it, please, just —”

And there he is, thrusting in all three with a rough stroke, and she squeals, driving her heel into the back of his leg. His mouth on hers cuts off her cry, the pad of his thumb pressing down on her clit, the noises between her thighs absolutely filthy as he fucks her. 

Her climax wells up the valley of her hips, a whirlpool of heat, the adrenaline rising in her chest inevitably, a roller coaster pointed towards the sky. 

He swallows her screams as she comes, his tongue pushing against hers, and he’s already clutching her protectively to his chest when she goes limp and tingly in the aftershocks. 

“Love you,” he smiles, his mouth pressed to her hair, arm solid around her. The declaration does nothing to soothe her racing heartbeat, the swoop in her stomach making her blush even harder. 

“You’re gonna regret all of that,” she informs him, all too aware of how little intimidation she’s capable of with her face nestled bashfully into his chest. 

“I seriously doubt that,” he chuckles. He pulls out his fingers, brushes his slick knuckles across her thigh. “Has it ever occurred to you that I only do stuff like this so you’ll make me pay for it later?”

“Maybe I’ll have to reevaluate my approach,” she muses, hiding her grin against his sternum. 

“You know, on second thought, forget I ever said anything.” 

“You’ll get your shirt wet,” she warns automatically as his other hand joins his first on her back. 

“Scully, you’re sitting on part of it,” he says. “I think you’ve already got that covered.”

The warmth bubbles up in her stomach, and she giggles without really knowing why, butting her forehead into his chest playfully. His laughter joins hers immediately, and she winds her legs around his hips, squeezing him tightly. The moments right after are the ones that she keeps closest to her heart, perfect little memories like love letters, tucked into the secret compartment of a jewelry box. 

“I think we burned the bagels,” he says after a moment. 

“We don’t have time to eat anyway,” she sighs, turning her head so her cheek squishes against him instead. “We’re going to have to make a no counter sex rule. This is the third time this week we’ve lost food.” 

“The food has been a worthy sacrifice, in my opinion,” he shrugs. “I’d gladly never eat a meal again if it meant getting to do this regularly.” 

“Don’t you dare make a joke about going down on me,” she warns. 

“Scully!” He’s dramatic, mock-wounded, the hand petting her short hair revealing how sweet on her he is even when she teases him. “Surely I’m not that predictable, am I?”

She kisses his chest, hides a smile. “I don’t think you want me to answer that.”


End file.
